I tried to make it as painless as possible. I packed food, of course, and baked brownies (Under normal circumstances, I don’t make dessert on the theory that sugar magically seeps into everyone’s bloodstreams all by itself and requires no help from me.). I reminded everyone to bring a book. We went to Crab Cove, where there is a large expanse of grass, a plethora of picnic tables, and a handy beach.
The food disappeared rapidly, in spite of people’s initial skepticism about having green things on their roast beef sandwiches (actual sandwich description: roast beef with lemon basil mayonnaise and spinach on French roll). The cantaloupe-cucumber salad was a winner, although I forgot the nuts, which would have made it better and slightly more salty. Brent and I were the only ones to try the baba ganouj and pitas. I made it because I like it and because I had eggplants that I was going to use in pasta and didn’t. The baba ganouj was powerfully garlicky and I will eat the rest for lunch tomorrow. And then brownies, with chocolate chips and Grand Marnier in them.
Syd leaned against the war memorial, facing the bay, reading a New Yorker. T.R. cocooned himself in the picnic blanket with Triss; from time to time the blanket was convulsed with giggles. Brent read something sci-fi sedately at the picnic table. I roved and read the beginning of King Dork, which I think I am going to like a lot.
Then the kids and I walked down the beach. T.R. found a stick and fought his way over the rocks. Syd and I talked about camp, upcoming plans, and girlfriends. Eventually, we piled back into the car and went for ice cream (see what I mean about the sugar?).
I can now say it is summer. And I’m glad.